


Skyrim 30 Day Challenge

by AthenaFangGranger26



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: 30 day Skyrim challenge, F/M, posted on blogspot first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaFangGranger26/pseuds/AthenaFangGranger26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is 30 day challenge I am attempting on my writing blog. This will be updated every few days with the newest challenge.<br/>It follows my Bosmer dragonborn, Athena, in her struggles in the land of Skyrim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ragnavir

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in my blog: http://thatonefandomgirl.blogspot.com.
> 
> My first ficlet of this Skyrim challenge will follow the prompt of:  
> "Describe your character's relationship with their mother or their father, or both. Was it good? Bad? Were they spoiled rotten, ignored? Do they still get along now, or no?"
> 
> So, I've elected to use my main Skyrim character, as I mentioned before. For those who don't know Skyrim, check here for more information. My character is a female Bosmer, who takes on the role of Dragonborn. She is roughly midthirties in age and her personality is often in flux based on her situation. She does not have a defined storyline, which is why I picked her over my other characters.
> 
> So, here is her first tale.

Athena stares up at her mother. The usually calm Bosmer woman is downright frightful at this moment. In only a few short years, Athena will be so much more powerful than she ever believed her mother to be. But she does not know that now; now she is only nineteen and worries for her own safety.  
"Answer me, Wel," her mother says.  
Her mother is the head of a well-off family by Bosmer standards. She runs the house on her own, Athena's father went missing when  
Athena was very young. Her older brother, Ares, tends to help their mother around their home, because he is the good child.  
Athena shudders and looks evenly at her mother. She stares at the blood red eyes, much like her own, and knows she must answer.  
"What do you want of me, Mother?" She murmurs, casting her eyes downward again.  
"I want you...to stop this barbaric..." her mother throws up her hands, "silliness." Her mother growls. "You are a Roseshade. You are destined to be a mage, not some Nordic barbarian."  
So, this is what this is about. Her mother spotted her chatting with a travelling Nord in the marketplace and admiring his elven-made broadsword. Her mother and brother preferred magicka to weapons, barely accepting the use of archery, despite most Bosmer choosing archery.  
"I am Bosmer, Mother," Athena protests. "I am merely interested in blade work."  
Her mother scoffs. "Blades are not meant for the elves. They are meant for barbarians."  
"Dirborn uses a blade," Athena points out, mentioning another Bosmer in their village.  
"Then Dirborn is a barbarian and a disgrace to his family name," her mother spits.  
Athena snarls, ears pinning back in disgust. "Why? What do you have against swords?"  
Her mother raises her pointed nose to the ceiling. "I will not speak of this any longer. If you choose to use a blade, then you are no daughter of mine."  
And that is why Athena chose to steal away that night, with an iron short sword strapped to her belt. If her mother thought her a Nordic barbarian, well, then she'd go join them.


	2. Miin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is:  
> "What are your character's most prominent physical features?"  
> So, today we flash forward in Athena's story to beyond when she has become and completed her destiny as Dragonborn. And this is what the world thinks of her now.

It's the eyes. Whenever someone speaks of the Dragonborn, it's always the eyes they notice most. Bards and passerby always make a point to say it is the eyes that her victims see last before they are sent to Sovengarde.  
It's not the long, fiery hair she keeps tucked beneath a circlet humming with energy. It's not the pursed lips, set to a frown as she accomplishes deeds she'd rather not and battles foes she'd rather avoid. It's not the pointed Elven ears, that swivel about to match her expression, despite what Windhelm's finest Nords would say.  
It's not the fiery steed upon which she rides, nor the heavy armor she garbs herself in. It's not the vibrant glowing bow slung about her back, nor is it the fearsome sword of Daedric she puts through her foes.  
Surprisingly, it's not the earth shaking Shouts that fly from her lips. The Hold Guards were never much a fan of the Shouting, but beyond that no one gave much mind.  
It's the eyes. It's the eyes they remember. Those who see her never forget the eyes. Blood red and cat-like. Beneath fiery thin brows that furrow when she's angry.   
The eyes dart about when she's nervous, standing regally before a Jarl or the High Queen. The eyes narrow when she spots a Nord being more racist than usual, this commonly results in the Nord's nose bleeding. The eyes soften upon crossing the threshold of her home, gaze falling on the husband who awaits her return.  
It's the eyes that they remember, and, for once, she's okay with that.


	3. Skein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is:  
> "Name one scar your character has, and tell us where it came from. If they don't have any, is there a reason?"  
> So, I've taken a couple liberties with Skyrim canon in this one, adding a couple of my own headcanons to the world. I think this one is self explanatory, but if later on I add more that may be a bit more subtle, I'll try to explain them in the author's note first.

All adventurers have scars. Thick scars and thin scars. Raised scars and scars so long that no clothing could conceal it all. Adventurers have scars they associate with great tales of battle and victory. Scars they can boast about at the near inn.  
All adventurers have scars. Yet, Athena does not. She prides herself on being an adventurer, having walked or ridden through nearly every piece of land in the country of Skyrim. She has explored more caves, caverns, and tombs than any other. She's ridden the backs of dragons, for Divines' sake.  
Yet, she has no scars.  
She's been hacked at by bandits weilding all sorts of weapons. She's been thrown by the tusks of mammoths and beaten by the clubs of giants. She's been bitten, poisoned, and clawed by Skyrim's wildlife. She's been frozen and burned and shocked by Skyrim's best--and worst--mages. She's felt the power of a dragon's Thu'um. She's withstood dragon's fire and frost.  
Yet, she has no scars.  
Because to be Dragonborn is to be powerful, too powerful Athena would say. Each time she defeats a dragon and consumes its soul, she is wrapped in a new skin. Identical to her previous one, except it is missing all the scars she'd collected since her last dragon. Each time she slays a dragon, she loses her stories. She loses her past.  
If Athena kept her scars, she'd be unrecognizable as Elven or even remotely humanoid. She's seen too many battles in her short life, with many, many more before she is done. She will continue to lose her scars until the dragons are gone, but then...what will she have left to fight?  
Or fight for?


	4. Naaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is:  
> "How vain is your character? Do they find themselves attractive?"  
> So, for those who don't know, the land of Skyrim is riddled with racism. The Nords who call the land home don't care for the Elves, Khajiit (cat-people), and Argonians (lizard-people) that call it home as well. This is portrayed in gameplay by insults yelled at characters of these minorities throughout the game as well as various quests dealing with characters being profiled due to their race. With all the recents events in the world today that mirror a lot of the same racial issues within Skyrim, I decided to include a bit of that in this prompt. As Athena, being a Wood Elf, or Bosmer, would be a part of that minority.  
> So, without further ado, here is today's prompt.

Athena stalks around the waterway toward the tiny pub. She walks right past Dirge, who tries to stop her with an idle threat. She shoves past him and moves beyond into the pub. A red-haired man, who was talking to a scrawny rat-like man, turns and grins at her.  
"Athena!" He calls.  
She forces a smile on her face as she replies. "Hello, Brynjolf."  
"Haven't seen you in a while, lass. Where you been?" The thief asks.  
"Oh, about. I have other duties in the world, you know," Athena says, her tone clipped.  
"Aye, alright. Are you dropping by for a job or...?"  
"Other business. I'll be out of your hair in no time. It'll only take a minute."  
Brynjolf nods, letting her by. He goes back to talking to Delvin, who watches Athena with a suspicious eye. She never liked the rat of a man anyway; his gruff brother in Ravin Rock is much nicer.  
Athena nods in passing to Vex and Tonilia. The women nod back, knowing better than to attempt conversation when Athena is upset. They could tell by the strict furrow of her high Elven brow.  
Instead Athena makes her way solemnly over to the huddled hooded figure sitting alone. The woman barely looks up as Athena stands staring the woman down. The Bosmer woman merely frowns in response to Athena's stare.  
"Can I help you?" She hisses.  
"I understand you know how to change someone's appearance," Athena murmurs, keeping her voice low as Tonilia walks by.  
"Change it? I can remake your face, if that's what you desire," the Bosmer replies icily.  
"Yes." Athena's response is short.  
The Bosmer sighs. "Very well. Though I cannot imagine what you wish to change, I must request you give me some sort of idea."  
Athena halts, mouth wide to reply, but something the Bosmer said stopped her. "Wait, what?"  
"You are quite a beautiful young elf. I cannot imagine why you would choose to change your face. There is not much else I can do to purify it further. You do not wish to dull your beauty, do you?"  
Again, Athena pauses. She doesn't--and never has--found herself beautiful. She's an angular elf in a land of hardened Nords. She sticks out like a sore thumb. She'd give more than a thousand septims to blend in.  
"I wish not to be Elven," Athena suddenly whispers.  
The Bosmer blanchs. "Why on Mundus would you want to do that?"  
"Because I am not Nordic."  
"And you wish to be barbaric?" The Bosmer knows not why Athena flinches at that word. "I do not understand some of my customers, but I suppose I must comply. Which of your Elven features do you want Nordic?"  
Athena hesitates, finally sighing and hanging her head. "I...I apologize. I've changed my mind. I don't want to change my face. I sincerely apologize for wasting your time. Good day."  
With that the Dragonborn scurries out into the Ratway. Galathil watches her go, shaking her head.  
"Damn those Nords to Oblivion," she murmurs, going back to her book.


	5. Bahlaas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is: What’s your character’s ranking on the Kinsey Scale? (AKA, orientation)  
> I ranked Athena a 1 on the scale, because truthfully when I created her I never gave it any thought. So, this should be interesting.  
> Also, Chitauri is my brother's Dragonborn character. In the universe I write in, Chitauri was named Dragonborn after Athena. Chitauri is the Harbinger of the Companions while Athena is merely a member.

Athena has draped herself across her husband's legs, clutching a wine bottle in her hands. It is a restless night at Jorrvaskr; the warriors are feeling particularly giddy tonight. Mead and ale is passed around, tales are shared, and boasts are made.  
Farkas, her husband, lets out a boisterous laugh as Chitauri is challenged to a duel by his wife, Aela. Chitauri is a clumsy Khajiit adventurer, who also happens to be a Dragonborn as well. Athena met him back when she was captured by the Imperials before all this mess of destiny began. Chitauri is recognizable by his piercing blue eyes and thick russet fur. How the young warrior enticed the strong, hardened Aela to wed him, Athena hasn't figured out yet.  
Athena giggles as she watches a mead-addled Aela lead her clumsy husband to the center of the hall to spar. Chitauri takes special care to hide his claws beneath leather gloves, while Aela goes barehanded. The Khajiit's tail twitches back and forth as he spins in time with his partner.  
"Ten septims on the cat," Farkas murmurs in Athena's ear.  
"Ten on Aela," Athena replies, turning her gaze to the Nordic woman.  
She smiles, lopsidely thanks to her second bottle of wine, watching the tension play through Aela's skin. She admires the muscles rippling beneath the surface. When Aela surges forward to cuff Chitauri around the ear, Athena watches her move like a graceful dancer, body extending and contracting to dodge the follow-up attack.  
Her hair lights like flame in the firelight and she whips it around as she spins to avoid another attack. Concentration flits across Aela's expression, easing and increasing in tension when Chitauri gets too close.  
A tap on her stomach makes Athena blink and look up. Farkas is watching her, a smirk pasted on his lips. She quirks an eyebrow quizzically.  
"Watch your gaze, my love." He chuckles. "Some might think something akin to scandal among our friends."  
"I was only admiring her grace," Athena protests, though she still smiles.  
Farkas sighs, but it's a kind sigh. "Sure. Just keep your eyes where they should be."  
"On you?"  
Farkas blinks at the clear flirty tone to the Wood Elf's words. Then he grins. "Yes."  
"Very well."  
Athena quickly sits up, pushing her lips to his. The rumble in his throat makes her grin and kiss him harder. A few hoots and hollers come from the other Companions, as Athena continues to clutch Farkas' hair. Chuckles follow shortly when, Athena assumes, Chitauri is beaten and pinned by his wife, defeated as always.  
A rough claw prods her back, making Athena pull away from Farkas despite the canine whine her husband makes. Chitauri rolls his eyes at his friends.  
"This one thinks you two should find another room. Chitauri does not need to see this." The car takes a big swig of his mead and pointedly looks away.  
"Aw, kitty's got his fur in a ruffle. Poor baby," Athena coos, with a giggle. She turns back to place a final kiss on Farkas' lips. "Come, dear. Our friend wishes us to go elsewhere."  
Farkas groans softly, but allows his wife to pull him to his feet. He winks at Aela as they pass her on the way to the lower level. The huntress chuckles and winks back, before returning to her own husband.  
The cat is swishing his tail aggravatedly, with his ears pinned and whiskers quivering as he nurses his mead. Aela grins, seating herself beside Chitauri.  
"Athena may be wed to Farkas, but this one does not like how she watches you spar," the Khajiit grumbles.  
"Oh, no harm, no foul, dear husband. You know as well as I that looking is no crime," Aela says, swinging her legs over Chitauri's.  
"Still. This one does not like it."  
"Oh, hush." Aela scolds; she swipes his mead from his paws. "C'mere. Let me scratch your ears. You must relax."  
The Khajiit is purring in no time.


	6. Vahrukt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is: "Describe your character's happiest memory."  
> So, I decided that, after finishing the Dragonborn DLC questline yesterday and freshly dealing with the slimy jerk, Hermaeus Mora (spoilers???) that I'd include him in today's prompt.   
> Any knowledge of the Dragonborn questline is not necessary before reading this, but knowledge of Mora might be.

"Hmm, you've many memories rattling about in this head of yours, champion."  
Athena shudders, not only at the tentacle currently in her ear, but at the voice whispering there as well. She sits, kneeling upon a platform in Apocrypha before her lord, Hermaeus Mora. The vile mass of tentacles that he prefers to appear as hovers a few feet away from her. He has extended his tentacles to her, taking hold of her wrists, throat, and now one is digging around in her head by way of her pointed ear.  
Mora called her forth from her own realm, claiming she had seen something that he had little knowledge on and required her memory to complete the knowledge for his library. As she was under his lordship, she must obey and thus made her way to Apocrypha.  
Mora chuckles again as he prods her brain again. Athena winces and doesn't quite contain her hiss of pain. Not only can she feel the tentacles poking about in her ear, but she can also physically feel Mora flicking through her memories.  
"Ah, Dragonborn. You have much knowledge on the Greybeards, that shall certainly come in handy someday." Mora muses, pushing his tentacle further.  
He prods a place in her brain and Athena tries desperately to shut the door on the daedric prince. She can't have him tainting that memory, never. She won't let anything taint that one. It is the one she goes to when she cannot go on anymore. When she is all alone in the woods, halfway to her destination, she goes to this place to hide, to recuperate. She cannot let Mora have that moment in time.  
"Hmm, what's this? You cannot block me out, my champion. Dovahkiin you may be, but I am much stronger."  
Mora chuckles and shoves the memory wide open. Athena cries out finally. The tentacle caresses the most private part of her brain. She weeps at the very thought of losing this precious knowledge.  
"Oh, my champion. This memory holds so much power over you, and yet...it is barely anything at all.  
"It is...innocence."  
Mora triggers the memory, and despite it being Athena's happiest memory to date, she feels excruciating pain as it flashes on her closed eyelids.  
A Bosmer boy, barely ten winters old. Light hair, characteristic of Bosmer. He dashes about in front of a large tree, a door sits in the trunk of the tree. The boy is grinning, waving his hand about. An orb of dim light flares in his palm.  
A Bosmer girl, also ten winters old. Fiery red hair, nearly unique among Bosmer. She watches the boy run about, grinning as well. Her deep red eyes are full of life and dance in time with the boy's dashing. She admires the boy's dim light orb.  
"Go on, 'Thenie. You try," the boy urges her, extinguishing his pretty light.  
The girl shakes her head. "You know I'm no good at magic, Faldrond. That's Momma's thing."  
"Just try. Gwindor said I couldn't do it either, but look'it." To emphasize his point, the boy summons another ball of light.  
The girl looks doubtfully at him, but raises her left hand--palm up--anyway. She stares at the pink, scar-less flesh of her palm and concentrates with all her might. Make light. Make light. Make light!  
A tiny flash of light flares where she stares then disappears. It's barely anything, but the children fly into a tizzy. The boy hugs the girl and she can't help the dartwings that take off in the pit of her stomach at their closeness.  
"You did it!" The boy giggles, releasing the girl.  
"I did it," the girl murmurs, a small prideful smile falling on her lips.  
The two children look up as their names are called by two different Elven women. They stand, bidding farewell to each other in the polite Bosmer way. The girl stands a moment longer watching her friend disappear into another treehouse. This is the happiest she's felt in all her life. And it's the last she'll ever feel this innocent.  
Mora laughs as he pulls away from the memory, retracting his tentacle as well. The great, slimy eye blinks slowly at Athena as she recovers from the pain and opens her eyes. She is surpised to find dampness on her cheeks and moisture blurring her vision.  
"Innocence is what you seek, champion?" Mora states more than asks.  
Athena shakes her head weakly. "No...I seek naivety."  
"Ah," Mora murmurs. "To know one's own destiny is to know too much...yes?"  
Athena manages a nod. She cannot say any more; she is still reeling from the slap of the memory.  
"That poor, poor soul of a boy...that was the last you saw of him, yes?"  
Again, Athena nods. She cannot trust her voice, for to speak would allow it to quiver.  
"Murdered with his family in their homes the next day by the local wildlife. I'm sure he would've lived long and lively if not for that. Married," a prod, "children," a poke, "a life." A stab.  
Athena falls forward with the force of the emotional blow. She rests her forehead on the cool material of Apocrypha's mesh platform. She can feel the coolness from the tainted waters just below the platform. She focuses on that; anything but the memory would do. Struggling to breathe, she squeezes her eyes shut.  
"Perhaps...that is enough for now." Mora says. "You are dismissed, my champion."  
Athena cares not as the darkness overtakes her. If it were sleep, so be it. If it were trance, so be it. If it were death, all the better.  
She wakes with a start in her bed. Home safe in Whiterun...with Farkas beside her. She sits up, still struggling for breath. She can still feel Apocrypha's moist air in her lungs. She wants it out. She wants no part of Hermeaus Mora. She wants no part of his knowledge.  
"'Thene?"  
Athena turns at her husband's voice. The wolfman stares up at her with sleep-tired blue eyes, more questions there than on his lips.  
"Nightmare," she replies simply.  
"C'mere," Farkas holds the furs back up, inviting her back underneath them.  
She takes the invitation. He folds her up against his bare chest, locking her in a gentle bind of strong arms. She smiles, sighing against his neck as he drifts off to sleep.  
Sometimes even the Great Dragonborn needs to be held...and told that everything is okay.


	7. Dirn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is: "Is there one event or happening your character would like to erase from their past? Why?"  
> So, this is based on an actual event that happened in my play through of Skyrim. I made a split second mistake and killed my character's first real friend. For a while I actual was really distressed about it, because I hadn't been playing very long and it was kind of shocking.

Undead, her nose tells her as she descends into the cave. Not just any undead; vampires. She flinches at the thought. Not only does the werewolf in her snarl at the thought of the vampires, but vague memories she's tucked away rear their ugly heads to distract her...  
"Are you sure, my thane?"  
Athena turns to grin at her housecarl, Lydia, and nods. "We have to get those books. Urag and the College are counting on us. We have to."  
Lydia doesn't look to impressed despite Athena's excitement. The brunette Nord stares at the wood elf quizzically. Then she shrugs. "As you say, my thane."  
Athena shakes her head, moving further down into the cavern. She stalks along the inside wall, arrow notched on her bow, taut and ready to release.  
The scent of blood hits her like a charging mammoth.  
"My thane, there's vampires ahead."  
"Aggressive?" Athena asks, dispatching a nearby mage.  
"No," Lydia pauses. "They're caged. They look...weak."  
Athena joins her housecarl in the doorway to the dungeon's next room. Sure enough, there's a handful of cages housing frail weak vampires. The hero in Athena demands she set them free. Without thought, she sheathes her sword and moves forward to the cage, withdrawing her lock picks from her pack as she goes.  
"Hold on; I'll get you out of here."  
Athena stares blankly at the bodies of her undead foes, strewn about the floor. She idly kicks a female one, satisfied by its limp form. She looks up toward a cage in the corner. A Nord woman cowers, disgusted by her rage. Must be the vampires' next prey.  
"Hold on; I'll get you out of there," Athena murmurs as she goes to work on the lock.  
The mistake is clear the moment the lock broke free. The vampires surges forward, crazed in thirst. It bypasses Athena and rushes Lydia, who meets it with a shield bash to the face. It doesn't stop the vampire from freeing her cohorts with magic though. The hall quickly fills with multiple vampire women and chaos erupts.  
The woman whimpers as Athena works at the lock. Her hands grow shaky as she works.  
A scream rips Athena from battle. She sees Lydia fall and the vampires converge on the warrior. Fury coarses through Athena as she turns. She takes a deep breath and shouts "Yol-Toor-Shul!"  
Flames leaps from her throat, scorching the vampires until they fall as well. Tears are falling before Athena can stop them. She knows her housecarl is dead.  
It's her fault. She sees red as she steps over the Nord's body. This Caller would feel the Dovahkiin's rage.  
The Nord cries and runs from Athena on she's free. Athena watches her go, a stone in her heart. She would rid this realm of vampires.  
For Lydia.


	8. Baklah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is: "Day of Favorites! What’s your character’s favorite ice cream flavor? Color? Song? Flower?"  
> As ice cream doesn't exist in the world of Skyrim, I've decided to ignore that part of the prompt. Color, song, and flower are included in this ficlet though. This one doesn't have a specific time frame. I also experimented with a future tense with this one, never done one of those and wanted to give it a try.

One might believe, with being warrriors and all, that Athena Roseshade, the Great Dragonborn, and the noble Farkas of the Companions would not have time for petty "dates" and romance. But patrons of the local inn, the Bannered Mare, can tell otherwise.  
It's always a Middas evening. Farkas will always arrive first, commandeering a table in the back. He won't ever say much; just sits in the back, leg bouncing and fingers tapping. Hulda, the barmaid, will stop by to ask if he needs anything, he'll quietly decline, kicking a heavy adventuring park beneath the table. Hulda will smile and move along, going to talk to Mikael by the fire pit.  
Usually a few moments later the front door to the inn will slide open and a weary adventurer will trudge in. She will shake out her long inferno of hair and tuck the remaing errant strands behind her long ears. She will smile at Hulda and excuse herself to the back room for a moment.  
When she returns, the thick ebony armor will be gone. In its place, will be a soft periwinkle dress, a shade that is her favorite. It is the only dress she's ever worn. She feels...weak and vulnerable in it. But one look to the corner of the room will light a smile on her face, different from the smile she puts on for the jarl or the determined smirk as she stalks tbrought tombs. No, this smile is the one reserved for her husband, the only person to truly make her happy in this world.  
Farkas will smile as well, standing as his wife gets closer. He will pull the chair across from him out to offer her a seat. He will flag down Hulda, who gives him a sweet smile and goes about creating their usual drinks.  
The Great Dragonborn will blush when a handful of flowers is passed across the table. Lavender, mountain flowers--blue and purple--nightshade, deathbell, and dragon's tongue. Her favorites. She will take them, jokingly bite a dragon's tongue stem between her teeth, grinning as her husband chuckles.  
Hulda will then bring their drinks, glaring at any patrons staring at the warrior pair. As she retreats back behind the bar again, she will tap Mikael on the back. The bard will nod discreetly and shift his tune. Only a couple chords into the song, the Dragonborn's Elven ears will perk up. She will grin and sing along as Mikael warbles the words to _The Tale of the Tongue_ s. Her favorite.  
She will know it's all thanks to Farkas this is occurring. She will finish her ale, drop a kiss on her husband's lips, and stand. She'll shoulder her pack, smiling at the while.  
"See you at home, love," is all she'll say, then out the door she will slip.  
Coins are left on the table, enough for the ale and a tip for the bard, and then the warrior follows his queen.  
  



	9. Ov

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: "Who does your character trust?" I decided to go very short with this one. I also brought back Chitauri from the orientation prompt. Keep in mind Chitauri is a character created by my younger brother.

Trust.  
Trust is not something that comes easily in the land of Skyrim. Trust is what keeps you from being killed, or could get you killed. Trust is earned and trust is lost. It is something quite dear to an adventurer's heart.  
For the Dragonborn this is doubly true. Athena trusts only a select few. Her family. Not her true family, her new family, the Companions. She trusts her husband, but, surprisingly, she trusts her fellow Dragonborn the most.  
Chitauri may be a clumsy Khajiit. He may nearly get himself killed on a daily basis, but she trusts him. Why? She doesn't know. They've travelled far and wide together often enough to know more about each other than themsleves.  
They both harbor resentment for a lost sibling, Athena and her show-off brother, Ares, and Chitauri and his late Skooma-headed brother. They both felt the pain of stress of the dov. They both ran with the Hunt. They both answered to the General.  
She trusts the Khajiit, because they are both their races' exceptions. They stand out and must stick together. She trusts him because he is her kind.  
She trusts him, because she does not wish to feel the sting of the cat's claws.


	10. Vuldak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm back to writing Skyrim, I had loads of things due yesterday and was busy most of my day, so I didn't get a chance to write. But today was ten times calmer and I was able to write a little bit. I'm just counting down the days until my junior years is over.  
> Anyway, today's prompt is: "Can you define a turning point in your character’s life? Multiples are acceptable."  
> So, after careful consideration, I've decided to focus on the emotional ties of Athena finding out she is more than a runaway Wood Elf.

Athena watches with grim satisfaction as the dragon crashes to the ground. She hefts her sword up into the air, shouting with the men around her in victory. She feels the adrenaline racing through her veins. For once she is not a Bosmer, but a victorious Nord.  
The dragon rears its head, despite being grounded. The guards nearest it leap back and shout. Athena gives a war cry and charges the beast. She waves her sword over her head as she approaches. The dragon roars a set of grumbling words that Athena does not understand. But she does not care as she climbs atop the dragon's head. She wobbles with the dragon shaking. Raising her sword above her head, she gives a final cry and plunges her sword into the dragon's cranium.  
The dragon mumbles one final word and sags beneath her. She slowly climbs off the beast, onto shaking legs. She drops her sword as well as her borrowed iron helmet onto the dirt. She leans on her knees as the guards cheer.  
"Holy..." A guard murmurs.  
Athena looks up at the guard's words. She too gasps, the dragon is violently disintegrating. Flames burst from its hide as it quickly turns from scaled beast to massive skeleton.  
The more interesting part though is the streamers of light peeling away from the skeleton and rushing toward Athena. She stares shocked as the light fill her. She feels a strange fullness within her when the lights stop.  
"By the gods. You're the Dragonborn."


	11. Lokraan do niraat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is: "Is there any animal you equate with your character?" After mulling it over forever, I gave in and took a spirit animal quiz because I couldn't decide. Ironically, the quiz deemed Athena's animal an owl. So, here's my analysis of Athena's owlish qualities.

Athena stumbles through the dense forest. She grasps at her side, hissing at the pain from the cut there. Normally she would've summoned her undead steed, Arvak, but that last battle with a necromancer had left her magicka drained. That left her only option as to walk her way back to the Whiterun hold and her cozy home within the hold capital.  
She curses when the ground suddenly drops out from beneath her. She rolls down the sheer hill, coming to a stop beside a large tree trunk. Her head collides roughly with the bark of the tree and she shouts a curse in dragon.  
This is exactly why she didn't bother with necromancers. She always, always got terrible luck after she finished dealing with them. She despises necromancers.  
A small noise catches her attention. It's a chirp, no...a hoot. Athena pushes herself up into a sitting position and looks around her. She manuevers her adventuring bag until she spots the source of the noise.  
A small, tawny owl lies a foot or two away. Its right wing is crippled beyond use and it looks entirely too malnourished for Athena's taste. The tiny bird of prey gives a small coo when it notices Athena watching it.  
"Hey, there," she murmurs, knowing full well an owl could not understand her basic speech.  
The owl hoots again and hops closer to Athena. It drags its useless wing behind it, the other tucked against its breast. The bird cocks its head sideways once it is within a few inches from Athena.  
"Oh, your wing..."  
Despite being the Dragonborn, and being harassed by Skyrim's wildlife on a daily basis, Athena cannot leave the poor defenseless creature alone and injured. It must be the runt of the nest with its size.  
"Come here, I'll fix you up."  
While she couldn't muster the strength to heal her own wounds and was too proud to waste her last magicka potion on herself, she gladly downed the blue liquid to restore a fraction of her magicka pools to use a simple healing spell on the owl's wing.  
She ghosts her fingers over the bird's wing, willing its bones to mend and be strong. She smiles as golden light twirls around the tiny creature, eliciting a small hoot from the bird. She barely hears the final bone snap back into place when her magicka runs out again.  
The owl gives another little hoot and looks up at Athena. She smiles again.  
"Go on, fly away. You're all better now."  
The owl even seems to smile when it gives its wings a little flap and takes off. A few flaps more and the bird of prey is high above the tree branches. Athena smiles again.  
She shakes her head at herself and stands. She grasps her side again and moves on, because she is Dragonborn and Skyrim needs her protection.


	12. Folhet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the insanely late update to this one, I was busy all day at work and preparing for Comic Con in less than a month. I kept telling myself sit down and write, stupid and so I finally did. Today's prompt needed a bit of tweaking to fit my character, but nonetheless the prompt is: "How is your character with technology? Super savvy, or way behind the times? Letters or email? AND/OR, DEPENDING ON SETTING: How is your character with magic or the supernatural?"  
> So, due to the mechanics of Skyrim, I decided to stick with the second half of the prompt. We'll see Athena's sort of prowess for magic in this edition.

It is a quiet evening in the capitol city of Whiterun hold. The shopkeeps have closed up and gone home, the guardsmen have swapped shifts for the night, and the children have long ago stopped running about the city streets and gone to bed. All is quiet for once, even the Bannered Mare and the mead hall in the Wind District.  
"Godsdamnit!"  
Farkas raises his head from the cooking pot in the center of the front room. He idly stirs the stew he had been preparing as he listens for another outburst, just to make sure he heard correctly.  
A small explosion rings through the small wooden abode followed by a shouted "For Ysmir's sake!"  
Farkas finds himself chuckling as he sets his stew to simmer and heads back toward the house's alchemy room: the last place he'd seen his wife enter. He finds the thin wooden doors shut, odd as they are usually wide open and hardly in use. He shrugs to himself and gives the doors a light knock.  
"What?" Comes the snarl from within.  
"Something wrong, dear?" Farkas asks softly.  
"No."  
Farkas rolls his eyes and pulls open the doors. The alchemy room is small and quaint. It houses only one table and chair, which holds piles of books both he and his wife had placed there for possible later reading. Beside the table is an alchemy stand, currently bubbling and boiling, its contents and angry red. There is a bookcase upon the far wall, the top shelf littered with potion recipes and instructional tomes. Atop the bookcase is a large chest, which his wife fills with potion ingredients and odd trinkets from her travels.  
Said wife is currently hunched over the alchemy stand, chest heaving in exertion. She has her back to him, but her body language makes it clear she wants it that way. He can physically smell her anger.  
"What is the matter?" He asks, ignoring her standoffish posture.  
"Blasted alchemy table is broken..." Athena mumbles.  
Farkas smiles. "Is it now?"  
"Yes. It won't make a simple healing potion. I've got the ingredients correct and the order correct and the technique correct, but it won't work. It's broken."  
He's seen this before. Athena and magic do not get along, despite her Elven blood. She states that is why she picked a Nord for a husband. Sure, she can handle a few apprentice class spells and she can put rudimentary enchantments on her arms and armor, but alchemy is one thing she has never fully grasped. She enjoys the collection part of alchemy, delving about Skyrim's high and lows to find the various ingredients needed. When it came to placing them within the alchemy stand and producing an effective potion, though...well, she did not excel very much at that bit. In fact, usually this sort of thing ended in one outcome, one he's seen many times before.  
"Come out into the sitting room, I'll clean the soot off your face." Farkas finally replies, turning and leaving the soot-covered elf staring after him.  
He goes in search of a water basin and a spare cloth. By the time he returns, Athena is sat by the fire, peering into his stew pot. Her angular face is thickly covered with a layer of ash, darken all of her features. Her dark crimson eyes dart up and blink at him as he approaches.  
He sits silently and begins to go about dousing the cloth in water. He starts at her chin, so as the leftover ash would not run into her eyes. She watches him as he works.  
"How about we put off this alchemy work until another day?" He says, dabbing her cheek carefully where the ash covers a thin scar that has not been healed by dragon souls yet.  
"I can handle that draaf easily," she grumbles, the dragon swear rolling easily off her tongue. "If my dimwitted, troll of a brother, Ares, can master it, then so can I."  
Farkas shakes his head as he continues to clean away the soot on her pointed nose. He sighs softly, dropping the rag into the basin.  
"You need not be as good as your brother--"Athena opens her mouth to protest, but Farkas barrels right over her. "--because you are already so much more than he."  
"You have not even met him. If you had, you'd be singing a different tune, husband." The elf pointedly looks away, biting her lip.  
"Well, with that logic, I suppose you are correct." Farkas rolls his eyes, cleaning the last bit of soot from his wife's features.  
She stops a moment and smiles at him. It is the smile she wears whenever she's realized she is being dimwitted herself. Her ears perk up and wiggle a bit.  
"Perhaps I shall go see Arcadia in the morn. She may have the potion I require, and perhaps she can show me again how to properly brew it."  
Farkas smiles at that. "Very well. Now, shall we enjoy the stew I have brewed for us?"  
Athena lets out a loud laugh, rare as it is, and grins widely. "Yes, let us. I'll go get some ale."  
He watches his wife rummage through their unorganized kitchen, spooning stew into bowls as he does. She may not be a master when it came to alchemy, but she sure knew how to keep her husband happy. And he her.


End file.
